


Arrested Recovery

by biseasiren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Depression, Domestic Violence, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biseasiren/pseuds/biseasiren
Summary: Harry Potter has just moved into a muggle apartment building, desperate to put some space between himself and the magical world. The War has been over for two and a half years, but he hasn't been able to move forwards, hampered by the accumulated trauma of a neglected childhood and a violent adolescence.When he moves in, instead of the peace and quiet he was expecting, it turns out that Draco Malfoy is his new neighbour. What's more, Draco is living with his boyfriend Logan, a potioneer for the Ministry, and there is something not quite right with their relationship. Is Draco being abused? Is it Harry's place to intervene, and even if it is, can he when he's as messed up as them?Slow burn. Triggers at the beginning of each chapter.





	Arrested Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment of my new multi-chapter story! I'll try to get one chapter out each week. I want to explore the traumatic impacts that the War would have had on Harry and Draco, and their attempts to overcome them. 
> 
> Triggers for this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts.

“If you just sign here and here, we’ll be done with the paperwork and you can start moving your things in!” Harry’s new landlord chirped, handing him a pink fluffy pen and rustling the papers around. “I guess I can officially welcome you to the building now!” 

Harry gave a weak smile and signed his name, the pink bobble at the top of the pen tipping to the side and making him wobble through his ‘r’s.

“Thanks,” he said as he handed the pen back. “Hopefully I’ll be a quiet tenant.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get on well with everyone on your floor,” she replied, scribbling her name, Sharon Brooks, below his and sealing the papers in an envelope. “There! All done!” She stood up and smoothed a hand over her flyaway red curls, smiling brightly. “Is there anything else you need? A hand to move anything else? I’m a dab hand at fitting furniture into those living rooms, a lifetime of playing Tetris with three siblings does that to you… Or do you want a tour of the rest of the building? Not that there’s much to see, but you never know...” 

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Harry cut in. “I’ve got some friends who’ll help me shift things around.” 

“Well then, you sound like you’re all sorted! I have to say, a tenant who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t need me to hold his hand is a blessed thing, I’ve had some doozies in the past who barely knew how to set up an automatic payment. No one on your floor, thankfully, although Mr Davis did need a couple of lessons on how to use the washing machine. You know, I don’t think he’d lived on his own before he came here? Surprising for a 30 year old, but…”

“Are the other apartments on my floor filled?” Harry asked, not wanting to be rude, but desperate to cut her rambling short. “There are four apartments on each floor, right?”

“On most of them, yes. Your floor is full, so you’ve got three neighbours, nice and cosy I think! There’s Mrs Miller, she’s a lovely elderly lady, makes the best scones you’ve ever tasted. Her husband passed away last year, so it’s just her and her cat. I can never remember its name, maybe Muffin? Or Cupcake? Something baking-related anyway. Mr Davis of course, but he works as a night porter across town so you won’t see him much. A bit of advice from me, he collects Star Wars figurines, but don’t ask him about them or you’ll never peel yourself away. And then there’s Mr Hayes and Mr Malfoy, they’re a couple that moved in a few months ago. I don’t know much about them, they’re very quiet…”

“Malfoy?” Harry interrupted sharply. “Draco Malfoy?”

“Oh, do you know him? Yes, and his partner’s name is Logan. Like I said, they’re new, but they seem nice enough, although Mr Malfoy could do with a bit more sun than he seems to get –“ 

A few years ago, before everything that had happened, Harry might have frozen in shock, or demanded his money back straight away, but instead he felt a curious desire to laugh bubbling up in his throat. 

Draco Malfoy? 

In a muggle apartment building? 

In the same building that Harry had just paid four weeks’ of bond money to live in? 

It was honestly too ridiculous to be a joke. He had moved out of Grimmauld Place and into a muggle apartment, hoping to get some peace and quiet for the first time in his life, and he had Draco-freaking-Malfoy as his new neighbour. Was he under some kind of curse? Was Trelawney right, and he was doomed to misery?

What on earth would compel Draco Malfoy to live amongst muggles? 

“–if there’s anything else you need, you’ve got my cellphone number, so don’t hesitate to give me a bell. The only time I won’t answer is if I’m at the cinema, my sister and I go each week, but I’ve been told off too many times for having my phone on and I really do enjoy going there, they play such interesting arty films. None of this superhero nonsense, classy French films, that kind of thing. I don’t really understand half of them even with subtitles, but they make you feel cultured somehow, don’t you think?” 

“Eh?” Harry said vaguely, coming back to earth with a thump. “Was there anything else I needed to sign?”

“Well, no, that’s everything I think. Listen to me, rambling on when you must just want to get into your apartment and have a rest! I’m terribly sorry, I do have a tendency to be a bit of a motormouth. Lord, is that the time? I must run!” 

Sharon bustled out of the small office, herding Harry in front of her, and fussed with a bunch of keys to lock the door. She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“Welcome to the building, again! I’ll be in on Monday, so if there’s anything you need before then, let me know. Do you think the parking warden will have been by yet? I’m running late. I always seem to be running late, it’s an awful problem of mine. Goodbye for now!” She took off at a trot for the elevator, her bracelets jangling as she rounded the corner. 

Harry paused for a moment, his mind galloping at a million miles an hour. He was going to be Draco Malfoy’s neighbour. And apparently Malfoy had a boyfriend. A live in one. God, was he one of the other Slytherins from their year? One was bad enough, but two had to be unbearable. 

Realising there was no point in stewing in the hallway, Harry dragged his feet back to his apartment, where Ron and Hermione were arguing over where to arrange the couches. 

“Clearly he needs to face the windows, he needs to have a nice view,” Ron was saying, but turned around when Harry opened the door. “Oi Harry, tell Hermione that I’m right, you’re paying for this view, you might as well enjoy it.” 

“I don’t think I’ll be enjoying much here,” Harry said morosely. “I’ve just found out that Malfoy lives here. In this apartment building. On this floor. Next to me.” 

Ron goggled at Harry, his irritation forgotten. Hermione just looked confused.

“Our Malfoy? I mean, Draco Malfoy? Here? But this is a muggle building.”

“I’m aware,” Harry said. “Apparently I can’t live in peace, even with muggles.” 

“Who told you this?” Hermione asked. “Was it one of your neighbours? They might have gotten the name wrong?” 

“The landlord told me,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “Draco Malfoy, sharing an apartment on this floor with a Logan someone, whoever that is.” 

“Logan Hayes?” Hermione said, looking downcast. “That’s the potioneer from the Ministry that Malfoy’s been dating. Oh damn, then it must be true, you don’t get those two names together as a coincidence.” 

“How do you know who Malfoy’s dating?” Harry demanded of Hermione, who rolled her eyes at him. 

“I work in the Ministry, everyone knows everyone.”

“I don’t know any Logan that works at the Ministry,” Ron interrupted.

“Yes, but that’s because you can’t see any further than your own nose, Ronald,” Hermione snapped. “Most people in the Ministry know each other, it’s just you aurors that can’t be bothered learning anyone else’s names.”

“I do know some people!” Ron argued back. “I know Helen in accounting!” 

“That’s because Helen processes your overtime pay!” 

“Can we get back to the fact that I’m now neighbours with Draco fucking Malfoy?” Harry groaned, scrubbing at his face. A headache was starting to build behind his eyes. “Jesus, all I wanted was some peace and quiet.” 

“Well you don’t exactly have to live here, mate,” Ron said. “Move back to Griummauld Place, I don’t know why you decided to move out in the first place.”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” Harry said flatly. “Just… I don’t know, I just didn’t expect Malfoy of all people to pop up right when I wanted to get away for a bit.”

“Malfoys are like bedbugs, Harry,” Ron said darkly. “They pop up right when you don’t expect them, and bite you on the arse.” 

*******

When Ron and Hermione had finally gone, the couches angled towards the television and the boxes un-shrunk and stacked in the bedroom, Harry flopped down onto his unmade bed and pressed his fingers against his closed eyes.

What a nightmare the day had shaped up to be. Not that he should have expected it to go smoothly – he was Harry Potter after all, trouble seemed to follow him like a bad smell – but he had to admit that Draco Malfoy had blindsided him. Of all the places he could choose to live, a muggle apartment building was the last place he would expect for a Malfoy to be able to bother him. 

All he had wanted when he made the decision to move out of Grimmauld Place was a chance to be himself without being watched, to take a breather and just _be._ He couldn’t do that in magical society – from the age of eleven he had been the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Lied, the Chosen One, the Saviour, but he had never been Harry. Just Harry. It had been exhausting when he was sixteen, and it was even more so now that he was twenty. Fame had never sat well with him, and the whispering and pointing that had characterised his time as The Boy Who Lived had turned into outright public adoration now that the War was over. Even two and a half years later, he couldn’t go anywhere without being swamped, with people begging for his autograph, pulling at his clothes and hair for souvenirs, and even fainting at the sight of him. He knew it was well-intentioned, but that was poor comfort when he just wanted to buy a new cloak or pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. He couldn’t go anywhere magical unless he used a glamour, and he’d never managed to get that spell quite right. 

And with his move he’d been hoping to take the opportunity to think about what he really wanted to do with his life. When the War was over and the rebuilding of Hogwarts was finished, he, Ron, and Hermione had all been offered jobs in the auror office without having to take their N.E.W.T exams. He and Ron had jumped at the opportunity, while Hermione chose to sit her exams via distance learning and then enrolled in training to become a magical lawyer. She had sped through her training, already a qualified lawyer only two years later, and he and Ron had focused their efforts on chasing Voldemort’s remaining supporters that had escaped justice. But the War had been over for two and a half years, the Death Eaters had been rounded up, and Harry still felt as if he hadn’t done what he set out to do. 

But what did he want to do? He had no idea. 

A nagging sense of anxiety, of having not done what needed to be done, had worn him down to the point of a nervous breakdown by the end of the year, and at Hermione’s urging he’d handed in his resignation just before Christmas. Ron hadn’t understood, nor did his boss. In fact, everyone except for Hermione was shocked at his decision, and hadn’t been shy at letting him know that they thought he was making a grave mistake. Why would Harry Potter not want to continue his work, hunting down Dark wizards and hurtling along the career trajectory that would certainly end in him becoming the Head of the Auror Office? Why would he want to throw all that away? 

Only Hermione knew just how bad things had gotten. It all came to a head when Harry, drugged to the gills with repeated vials of Dreamless Sleep and stimulants like coffee and cigarettes, broke down through a firecall to Hermione’s flat and confessed that he had been thinking about ending it all. To her credit, Hermione hadn’t panicked. She swung into action immediately, Flooing over to Grimmauld Place and packing a bag for him to stay with her for a few nights. She had helped him to craft his resignation letter and arranged for him to see a wizard psychiatrist. She had been kind, encouraging, and took on the responsibility of telling their mutual friends. Harry knew that he wouldn’t have had the strength to do it without her. 

Ron, on the other hand, had initially been entirely baffled and judgemental. He couldn’t understand why Harry hadn’t gotten any better since the Battle and the horcruxes had been destroyed, how he was still having nightmares two and a half years later, and why he couldn’t just get over it and move on. He, Ron, had managed to pull through, so why couldn’t Harry? The most distressing part was that he initially blamed Hermione for Harry’s decision. They had broken up shortly after the War, their romantic attachment fizzling out when they were no longer in fear of their lives, and while they remained friends, things were still strained between them. Because Hermione had been the one to suggest the idea to Harry in the first place, Ron had been convinced that it was her fault that his best friend and auror partner was abandoning him, just when they were moving into a new phase of their careers. He still didn’t understand, but he’d moved past open accusations and was trying to be supportive. But he still believed that after awhile Harry would come back to work, that he just needed a holiday and would be itching for more action before long. Harry hadn’t tried to convince him otherwise, knowing that sometimes it was just best to leave things as they were. It still hurt though, knowing that one of his best friends was unable to understand just what he was going through. 

So here he was, sitting in his new apartment with nothing to do except think. No work to take home, nothing to structure his days. Just alone time, surrounded by muggles and no obligations.

Except for Draco Malfoy. 

Harry groaned and stared up at the blank ceiling. Why did bad things always happen to him?


End file.
